It
is morning in Hweka, deep in northern Burma's Kachin
State. Outside the window, the roar of the river below awakens
us from our slumber, nudging us groggily into yet another
day. Already it has been four long days since leaving Mandalay;
when we will reach our destination is still uncertain. Nevertheless,
we are unfazed, our spirits are high. Because we are convinced.
Today is the day. Today is the day!

The road to Jade Land

Perhaps it is better to start at
the beginning. We had come to these jungles to follow the
green line to its source, in search of jade – what the
Chinese call the "stone of heaven." Up until 200
years ago, jade meant nephrite, a tough, white to spinach-green
stone that was the ideal canvas for China's stone carvers.
Then, in northern Burma, a new type was found – jadeite.
Unlike nephrite, jadeite occurred in emerald-green shades.
The people of the Middle Kingdom were smitten, head over heels
in love with something that came only from one remote locality
in Upper Burma. It was the search for the source of this green
stone that had brought us to Burma. Little did we know the
trials and travails this quest would entail. This is our story,
our quest for green.

Ask and ye shall receive

For over thirty years, foreigners
had petitioned the Burmese government to visit the jade mines.
Due to the war which had raged between the central government
and successionist rebels, the answer always came back no.
But times had changed. The country was now called Myanmar.
And the central government had recently made peace with the
rebels. So, hat in hand, we went and asked again. And we received.
They said we could go.

Figure
1 Traveling
in Burma's restricted areas inevitably means
dealing with the military, who look upon all foreigners,
but particularly the press, as something to be scrutinized.
(Photo: R.W. Hughes)

Don't ask, don't tell

In Myanmar, it is considered
bad form to inquire about arrival times, and there are good
reasons for this. The country's transportation network
is, in a word, bad, operating just slightly above the stall
speed of a bicycle. Couple this with some of the most rugged
terrain this side of worse-to-forget-it and you get the picture.
Locals understand, realizing that any answer will likely be
wrong. Hence the local policy is one of pragmatism –
akin to gays in the US military: don't ask, don't
tell. But ask we did. And so we were told: we would leave
to Hpakan on April 21. This was our first mistake, but would
not be the last.

On
April 19, we called Yangon, just to confirm the arrangements.
And we were told: "Sorry, try again on April 28."
A week later, we again called Yangon. And we were told: "Sorry,
try again on May 5." So we called again on May 3. And
we were told: "Sorry, the rainy season has now begun,
try again later," as in November later.

Enter Stillwell's son

We had all spent enough
time in Asia to realize that, while patience might be a virtue,
a bit of the "I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer"
impatience can also work wonders. Thus we paid a visit to
Myanmar anyway, to see just how soon later could be.

"Vinegar"
Joe Stillwell

Passing through the jungles
of northern Burma, it is hard enough to imagine
walking, let alone fighting, but human conflict
has boiled in these steaming lands for close
to half a century. When the Japanese invaded
Burma in 1942, the British and their confederates
were left to flee to India. One man who went
with them was General Joseph "Vinegar
Joe" Stillwell. Over 50 years' old
at the time, Stillwell would leave men decades
younger in the dust as he marched.

"Vinegar
Joe" Stillwell was one of the finest
fighting men the United States has ever produced.
America's military attaché to
China in the pre-war years, he was called
out of retirement when the US went to war
with Japan. During that conflict, he took
Chiang Kai-shek's rag-tag nationalist
Chinese Kuomintang (KMT) army and turned it
into a first-class fighting force, routing
so-called "invincible" Japanese
troops all across northern Burma. But his
main claim to fame was overseeing the construction
of a road from Ledo, in eastern India, across
to Bhamo, and then to China. The 1200km route
from Ledo to Wanting, in China, cut through
some of the most inhospitable jungle on the
planet, spanning 10 major rivers and 155 secondary
streams. So many were lost in its construction
that it became known as the "mile -a-man"
road. Today, due to destruction of the major
bridges, only a bare track remains. But the
name of its creator lives on. The trace, which
passes within miles of the Mogaung-Hpakan
road, is known as the "Stillwell Road."

A
meeting was arranged, where we pressed our case. The official's
concerns were real enough – this area was extremely rugged,
tough enough in the dry season, let alone the wet. But we
told them: "We are tough. Locals can go, so can we."
Then, we brought out our trump card. Richard Hughes asked
if they remembered the American World War II general, "Vinegar
Joe" Stillwell (see box). Of course, came the reply.
"Well," Hughes dryly intoned, "I am Stillwell's
son."

When
the guffaws had subsided, they agreed to give it their best
shot. If it was in their power to arrange it, they would do
it. As it turned out, it was not. Final approval eventually
had to come from the Number 2 man in Myanmar's ruling
SLORC junta. But in a week's time, we were on our way
to Hpakan, center of Burma's Jade Land.

June 2

By rail from Mandalay

We begin our journey in
Mandalay, a hot, dusty urban sprawl which locals say is fueled
by the "three lines" – the white line (heroin),
the red line (ruby) and the green line (jade). The group which
assembles in Mandalay is a disparate one, consisting of a
French dealer, Olivier Galibert, an American ruby and sapphire
expert, Richard Hughes, a Bangkok trader, Mark Smith, and
a Mogok dealer, Dr. Thet Oo. All are gemologists and all are
old Asia hands, with much experience in Burma. Our guide is
a Burmese army captain, a military engineer who has spent
much of his career chasing rebels across the Shan hills.

We
board the Mandalay-Myitkyina train shortly after noon. Our
first destination is to be Mogaung, the largest city near
the jade mines and itself a famous cutting and trading center.
From here we will proceed to Hpakan. The scheduled time to
Mogaung is 20 hours, but the journey may take up to 40, due
to the deplorable condition of the tracks. In 1993, the government
signed a truce with the Kachin Independence Army (KIA), but
three years of peace have done little to wipe out thirty years
of neglect. When the locomotive reaches speed, the train screeches
wildly as it strains against the sides of the rails. At high
speeds, our carriage rocks violently back and forth, reminding
us that derailment is a very real possibility. In early 1995,
at the railway bridge near Mohnyin, just such a derailment
killed over 100 passengers. Thus we were not entirely unhappy
with our speed.

Mosquito watch

Another aspect of the rail
journey is the mice and other vermin, which scurry to and
fro in the carriage. But we had little fear of them nibbling
on our shoes. A pest which did scare us was far smaller –
the night-biting female Anopheles mosquito – which carries
deadly strains of malaria.

It
was once believed this scourge could be entirely wiped out, à la smallpox, but the malaria parasite has
proved a far more formidable foe. Today, the parasite has
developed resistance to virtually all prophylactics. Thus
the best protection is simply to avoid being bitten. Rather
than quinine, chloroquine or Fansidar, we armed ourselves
with insect repellent, and applied copious quantities every
night of our journey.

Malaria
is not to be taken lightly. The cerebral form strikes quickly
and, if not treated properly, can kill as soon as 48 hours
after onset of symptoms. Witness the two western reporters
who ventured into rebel Burma during the late '70's.
Both came down with fever upon their return to Bangkok. One
immediately fled to Hong Kong, thinking the medical care in
the British colony would be better. Doctors there diagnosed
him as having hepatitis and 48 hours later he was dead.

Miniskirts on motorbikes

Time on the train is whiled
away with the exchange of stories. Dr. Thet Oo regales us
with tales he has heard of Hpakan, or "Little Hong Kong"
– so-named by locals because, whatever the object of
your desire, you can find it there. Among the products said
to be on offer there are Hennessy cognac, Rolex watches, Nike
running shoes, opium, heroin, and, as Thet Oo leaned forward
and conspiratorially whispered: "miniskirted girls riding
motorbikes." That sure primed the pump.

The
train is a' coming

At 11:00 p.m., we stop
in Kawlin, a bustling market town, some eight hours and 40%
of the way to Mogaung. It is 11:00 p.m., but still hot and
humid. Along the platform, vendors, town criers and assorted
other seers and seekers of coin shriek out the nature of their
produce. The scene is a cacophony of sound and activity, as
people hustle and bustle for business. Young, flower bedecked
children run up and down beside the train searching for that
special someone who will lighten their load. Even at such
as late hour, so many are stirring – the arrival of the
train provides one of the day's major events.

Into the night

Kawlin is but a brief respite
from the monotonous pounding of the rails as we continue north
into the unknown. The train moves slowly through impenetrable
forest, where the dense foliage literally slaps up against
one's skin. This area contains some of Southeast Asia's
last remaining virgin forests, but signs of logging are everywhere.
The night's full moon illuminates small towns, where
shadows of hundreds upon hundreds of logs lie stacked alongside
the tracks.

Occasionally,
for no apparent reason, the train stops dead in its tracks,
only to creep forward again after a pause of thirty minutes
or so. With the onset of the monsoon, which had begun several
weeks before, everything is green and the moon casts ghostlike
shadows on trees stretching hundreds of feet into the sky.
Wheels scream in agony as we pass through a series of low
hills, with the river in the valley below. Occasionally the
train nudges in and out of fog, the surrounding hills shrouded
in mist. Everywhere there is jungle, green, jungle, green,
ubiquitous. Humans gnaw and nibble at the forest's edges,
but it continually creeps back, as relentless as the rains
which give it sustenance. The train is like an intruder, its
clickity clack a foreign language, tapping its message of
approaching humanity like a morse code. But if one listens
closely, native tongues are heard – the buzz of cicadas,
a bird's caw and the trickle of rushing water, occasionally
punctuated by the howl of a wild animal from the nearby forest.

June 3

Hopin' for Hpakan

About 10:00a.m., the train
stops in the small town of Hopin, some three hours before
Mogaung. Here we learn that there are two roads to Hpakan.
The flatter of the two leaves from Mogaung and goes via Kamaing,
while the other starts at Hopin, and heads to Hpakan, through
the mountains. One of the train's passengers points to
some nearby trucks and declares: "There. They go Hpakan."
After nearly 20 hours on the train, no further encouragement
is needed. We scramble off, determined to head directly to
Hpakan from Hopin.

Transport
is quickly arranged, consisting of a four-wheel drive pickup,
modified with three rows of seats in the bed. The cost, for
what we are told is a seven-hour trip, is, frankly, astonishing
– 35,000 kyat ($270 at the then exchange rate of 130
kyat to the dollar). Although we later found this to be double
the local price (a 'skin tax,' as the Captain called
it), we soon learned that, like the boom towns of the old
American West, the quest for green brings out that most fundamental
of human characteristics – pure naked greed.

Seven hours to Hpakan…

A brief meal, the purchase
of some supplies, and then we set off for Hpakan. The dirt
road heads straight for the hills, but after hearing so many
horror stories about monsoon travel in this area, we are pleasantly
surprised at its benign condition. Visions of cold beer in
the evening, served up in imperial jade goblets by miniskirted
damsels on motorbikes dance in our heads.

The
first 12km are flat; then the road ascends, twisting through
the jungle up to a small military post, some 16km from Hopin.
Wreathed in several layers of sharpened bamboo and punji sticks, just one year before this base had been a lonely outpost
of the Burmese army in their battle with Kachin rebels.

From
the pass, the road plunges down onto the broad, flat plane
that surrounds Burma's largest fresh-water body, Lake
Indawgyi. In the nearby rice paddies, beautiful pink cranes
are seen feeding. After two hours, we reach the small town
of Nyaungbin, perched at the northern end of the lake, and
halt for a brief break.

Figure
4 At
Nyaungbin, a motorcyclist is seen removing chains.
He told the authors it took him ten hours to ride
from Hpakan, and he only fell five times. (Photo:
R.W. Hughes)

Nyaungbin

At Nyaungbin, we get a
glimpse of the shape of things to come. The small, L-shaped
town is basically a staging point, where vehicles gear up
for the push into Hpakan. Our driver begins to strap on chains.
"Hmm," we think, "this is starting to get interesting."
Next to our truck, another vehicle is removing chains.
What makes it all the more notable is that it is a motorcycle. The mud-spattered rider tells us it had taken ten hours to
come down from Hpakan and he had only fallen five times.
Yes, this was looking interesting, indeed.

All aboard

After
a short break, we are all aboard for Hpakan. Immediately,
the road changes, becoming far more rugged and muddy, while
the forest creeps ever closer. This is obviously the road
less traveled; whether we will be better for the experience
is yet to be determined.

Due
to the difficult nature of the track, we are now traveling
in convoy, the lead truck with a stencilled "Bradley"
on the side. As Bradley races ahead, splashing through mud,
it is all we can do to keep up. Caution is quickly jettisoned
as Bradley speeds over hill, dale and other obstacles. Our
stomachs sicken when, at one point, he tilts onto two wheels,
but, incredibly, does not tip over. Later, we learn that not
everyone is so lucky. The previous day, a truck overturned
near here, killing its driver.

As
we crest yet another hill, a giant mud hole awaits, with a
stuck truck right in our path. It is here that we see our
first elephants, a ubiquitous sight in the days ahead. All
along the road, the giant beasts are used to tug stranded
vehicles from the mud, at a cost of 1,500 kyat ($12) per pull.
But we do not yet need them, as our driver is able to squeeze
by.

Welcome to mudtropolis

The bottom of the next hill
reveals the mother of all mud holes. Here, a ten-wheeled truck
lies like a beached whale, submerged up to its windows in the
slimy goo. While elephants make ready to free the vehicle, three
vendors sit on the sidelines selling refreshments. The implication
is clear – "You're gonna be here a while."
And we will be. Andy Kaufman would have loved it.

First
up is a single elephant, whose chain is strapped around the
truck's bumper. When everything is secure, the signal is
given. The rider gives the elephant a sharp whack on the head
with his machete and all pandemonium breaks out. Trumpeting
roars rock the forest's stillness as the great pachyderm
strains to tug the truck free. Again and again it pulls, yanking,
yanking, while the truck's engine shrieks and moans. Black
clouds of diesel cloak the participants as both engine and elephant
whine in agony. But all to no avail; the truck has sunk deeper
still.

A
second elephant is now brought to the fore, and chained to the
stranded vehicle beside the first. Again, machetes flash and
the jungle seethes with the sounds of the straining beasts.
Again, the truck rocks and whines, but refuses to budge.

Refusing
to admit defeat, Bradley decides to grasp the nettle directly.
Gunning his engine, he makes a desperate dive into the hole,
trying to pass alongside the truck. But it is not to be. Now
two vehicles are hopelessly mired in the muck. As the sun slowly
sets on this forlorn corner of the globe, its fading light carries
with it our hopes. And in its place, a grim realization descends
– no Hpakan tonight, no miniskirts on motorbikes, no cold
beer, no little Hong Kong. We now understand – we are gonna
be here a while.

Figure
6 Ah
hell, I'll walk
The rainy-season road to Jade Land is not an easy
one; in many cases, it's easier to walk. (Photo:
R.W. Hughes)

Unhappy campers

Regrouping,
we discuss the possibilities. The thought of camping beside
this malarial watering hole does not make any of us happy.
But as the line of vehicles on either side lengthens, an idea
is conjured. Why not trade vehicles? Those on the other side
of the hole can take our car and we take theirs. Thirty minutes
of negotiation later, a deal is struck. We are on the road
again. Our new driver is nicknamed "Rambo."

If
only things were so simple. But they are not. Around the next
bend, it is more of the same, mud hole after mud hole, each
of which presents manifold hazards. As twilight descends,
we pass small villages, each laying out the welcome mat, in
the form of Tiger Beer, Heiniken, Coca Cola, Pepsi, etc.,
for sale. We pass one house with a small white cross above
the door; many Kachins are Christian – it is clear, we
are now deep in the heart of Kachin land. We also pass a church,
but too late – it's Monday. Still we press on.

Hogging the road

Huge trees dot the landscape
as our truck variously slithers and blasts through countless
mud holes. At one, where several vehicles are stranded, someone
suggests we open a Pizza Hut. Now we are told we are approximately
15 miles from Hpakan, with just two or three elephant spots
left to pass.

It's
6:15 p.m. and nearly dark, but we continue to push ahead.
Cresting a hill, we come across a truck with a broken tie
rod. No problem – except for the large pig wallowing
in the mud beside it, blocking our path. Shouting and screaming
produce only angry glares from the pig, which refuses to move.
This is a tired statement, but one we must make – the
pig is obviously in hog heaven.

Figure
7 Many
Kachins are nominally Christian, but this religion
is just a thin veneer on top of the traditional
animist beliefs. Here is a church at Nam Lam. (Photo:
R.W. Hughes)

Inching along

By this point, anything
under two-feet deep is a baby mud hole and hardly merits mention.
But there is a problem ahead, a stuck jeep and people digging.
The jeep is seriously high-centered, and no amount of our
tugging and pulling can free it. So our driver decides to
slip by on the edge, only to become helplessly high-centered
himself. Additional vehicles halt behind us, as darkness and
mosquitoes descend on the jungle.

A
shovel is produced and we dig in the mire, but to no avail.
Finally, a rope is procured. More than twenty of us pull and
shout at the jeep, willing it to move, to give up its muddy
tomb. With agonizing slowness, it begins to slide forward,
inches turning into feet, as we strain against the rope, up
to our knees in mud. Eventually, with one final tug, the jeep
is freed, amidst cheering and shouting.

Holiday in hell

Now we have only to free
our truck, but this proves impossible. So, once again, we
rats desert our sinking ship and switch vehicles, this time
to a truck loaded 15-feet high with an odd assortment of gear
and people. Although Rambo tells us he will bring our gear
up later, the wise amongst us grab our packs and bags. Seeing
the truck's unsteady nature, Hughes and Smith decide
that being in a position to leap off this tottering ship of
fools when it runs aground beats any view of the stars from
above. Thus they alight on the truck's rear bumper, where
a slender space has been cleared, just enough for their feet.
Again, we are on the road to Hpakan.

The
truck careens wildly through the slop. Every fifty meters
or so, we encounter impassible mud holes. But with a full
head of steam, we slam through, only to repeat the process
again and again. At times, it is all we can do to hang on,
the grip made all the more treacherous due to our back packs
and the fact that we cannot see the road ahead. In places,
the bouncing is so great Hughes' and Smith's feet
leave the bumper entirely, leaping over a foot in the air,
only to come crashing back down on the bumper. During one
particularly nasty portion, a Burmese man riding next to Hughes'
and Smith turns and asks in perfect English: "Are you
here on holiday?" We mumble and nod, not having the heart
to tell him that, if we had even a single shred of intelligence
left, we would now be poolside at the Oriental in Bangkok
sipping a cold drink, not clinging to some Burmese mud buggy
in this god-forsaken jungle.

Bridge of sighs

After but a couple of miles,
progress is halted by a bridge, surrounded by one huge mud
pit. But our driver, apparently feeling his oats, decides
to chance it. Gunning the engine, we speed into the gully
and onto the bridge, only to have one wheel slip through the
timbers. Now, with the truck tottering on the brink of major
disaster, Hughes decides to hell with it all. He will walk.
And walk he does, like some roller-blading drunk – two
paces – until his leg, too, slides through the timbers.
Cursing under his breath, he gingerly extracts it and, not
finding bones sticking out at crazy angles, staggers slowly
into the night after the Captain, who has also decided that
walking looks too good to pass up. At this point, Hughes begins
to seriously question whether the green line to the source
of the stone of heaven might actually be a bullet train to
the hereafter. Stillwell's son is feeling mighty tired.

The missing link

At Taung Ché, our
night stop, we sit down for a much deserved meal and drink…
uh… make that a double. The breather gives us cause to
reflect on "the road" and "the jungle."
All agree that we now understand the true meaning of the phrase:
"dry-season offensive." Only some beret-bedecked
special forces yoyo would even consider fighting a war here
during the rainy season. As a hubble-bubble is passed round,
Dr. Thet Oo, with characteristic daring, makes a bold statement:
"We can only get this kind of experience here in northern
Burma." Indeed, only in this valley…

While
pondering that basic truth, Rambo wanders in, covered head
to toe in brown ooze, but otherwise little worse for wear.
Bereft of all human rodents, he dug his truck out alone and
continued up the road, only to get stuck yet again. That said,
he asks if driving a truck is like this in America. Sadly,
we reply in the negative. Driving a truck is like this only
in this valley. And we expect, some 200 millennia later,
an anthropologist will dig up the fossilized remains of just
such a truck in one of these mud holes and declare it to be
the missing link between savage and civilization. We just
hope it's not our skeletons in it.

As
the night wears on, Galibert engages in a spate of arm wrestling
with Rambo, while the rest of us watch, recklessly fortified
by a mixture of banana leaf and something else. Rambo remarks
that Galibert, with his shaved head, looks like the famous
actor, Yul Brenner. And because Galibert is a happy, jolly
type, he will return the following morning with his truck
and take us all the way to Hpakan. On that note, we retire.
Our dreams are filled with visions of cold beer in green goblets,
served up by damsels in miniskirts on motorbikes.

June 4

A new day

The night had been spent
in the home of a former KIA leader. As we awake in Taung Ché,
the sun is shining and all well in the world. We are convinced
we'll be in Hpakan by lunch. Today is the day. Today
is the day!

Unfortunately,
Rambo doesn't show. Thus two of us (RWH and MS) walk
back down the road in search of his vehicle, the truck that
will take us to Hpakan. Greeting us is a sight straight out
of Dante's Mudferno. All manner of vehicles litter the
road, some in the most unlikely of spots. In places, the muck
is so deep it looks like only the onset of the dry season,
eight months ahead, will free them from their brown tombs.
It is now looking like Rambo might be awhile.

Thirty
minutes' walk brings us to a military post. Although
we had passed it the previous night, in the confusion we had
not properly checked in. Hence the sight of two Caucasians
walking down the road from Hpakan sends soldiers scrambling.
Expecting to be staked down in the hot sun and grilled for
our secrets, instead we are offered Fantas. But there is more
than a little explaining to do.

An
hour's worth of frantic radio traffic later, our host
smiles broadly and, in broken English, declares that we are
"okay." But us okay folks were supposed to
have left the train at Mogaung. As we are shortly to learn,
an entire army unit had been sent down to Mogaung to act as
our escort. Whipping out a set of US Air Force maps, ca.1946,
he proceeds to show us where we are, and where we are going.
This is depressing. The previous day's and night's
slipping and sliding from Nyaungbin netted us just 10 miles.
We are still some 25 miles from Hpakan.

But
not to worry. The current unit resolves to do the dirty deed.
As clouds form ominously above, a dilapidated Willy's
jeep is commandeered and off we go. Just behind the jeep plods
our insurance policy – a large bull elephant.

Two steps up, one step back

We push ahead. By now,
clouds have turned to rain, and it surges down with vengeance.
After only 200 meters, the elephant's services are called
for. It is obvious walking will be quicker. Thus we all pile
out and begin the trudge up the hill. As we walk, the forest
echoes with the sounds of elephants trumpeting, laboring to
drag vehicles up the hill.

The
rain makes the clay ice-slick and it is all we can do simply
to maintain balance as we skate ahead – two steps up,
one step back. Rambo's no- show has created severe problems
for Dr. Thet Oo and Capt. Khin Maung Zaw. Both are now reduced
to day packs and the clothes on their backs, since their main
bags had been left in Rambo's truck.

Nike graveyard

The trace is a veritable
shoe graveyard, muck tugging and tearing at footwear with
every step. Here lies a sandal, there the sole of a boot,
and over there the mud-covered carcass of what was once a
pair of Nike running shoes. Halfway up the hill, the Captain's
shoes give out, but he bravely strides on, bare feet sloshing
through the sometimes knee-deep Kachin mud. Galibert offers
the Captain sandals – which last less than half a mile
before they, too, are torn to pieces.

After
several hours climb, the sun greets us and we begin to head
down again. But going down hill is even more difficult, due
to the slippery nature of the track. All of us are thoroughly
encased in the sea of brown. By 3:00 p.m., we reach the small
Kachin village of Namlam. The shoes of three of our party
are now destroyed, their soles literally torn off by the mud.

Jade!

At Namlam, a new military
unit is waiting. We bid the old team farewell and, after a short
rest, pile into a truck and continue the journey. The new unit
is headed up by a manic major who is a dead-ringer for Charles
Bronson, albeit in his Burmese reincarnation.

Slish,
slosh, we splash down the track, eventually coming to Makabin
(also spelled Makapin; 'clover tree'), roughly halfway
between Nyaungbin and Hpakan. This is a substantial settlement
of some 1000 people. Major Charles points at a group of men
digging beside the Hweka chaung (river), and casually
mentions they are digging for jade. Excitement grips us –
we have finally entered Jade Country.

Makabin
is a typical jade village, with an alluvial, jade-bearing conglomerate
being worked. Although mined for decades, it has the look of
a brand-new village. In the past few years, government liberalization
of the mining and trading sectors has brought renewed vigor
to the quest for jade. Long-abandoned mines are being reclaimed
and everywhere one looks, signs of the current renaissance are
on display. Makabin, with its broad array of goods, wears the
new prosperity openly, shamelessly.

We
stop for a drink in the riverside restaurant of the village
headman, a tall, friendly Kachin. He says we are the first foreigners
to visit in over thirty years and, in our honor, serves up potato
chips, venison and beer, as he relates information on the village.

Figure
9 At
Makapin a miniature Las Vegas (albeit with a wicked
Macau twist) sets up every evening. Like mining
towns around the world, gambling and sex are the
preferred pastimes. (Photos: R.W. Hughes)

According
to the headman, all mining here is private (meaning joint-venture).
While the village is some 800 years old, only in the last
four years, with government liberalization of the economy
has jade mining been revived.

It
is said to cost 10,000 kyat ($77) to mine ten square feet
at Makabin. With the exception of imperial green, all colors
of jade are found. The most valuable piece of Makabin jade
sold for a few million kyat.

All
too soon, we must move on. Now our truck, packed tight with
soldiers, draws a bead on the river, driving straight through
the middle of the channel. Along the way, we pass steep cliffs,
where the Hweka chaung has carved a narrow passage
through the country rock. High on a cliff face, is a spot
of bare rock. Perched like an eagle's aerie, it is a
jade mine. This is but one step in the long green line, all
to bring a bit of color and shine to fingers, ears, egos.

As
the sun sets over the surrounding hills, we come to the important
village of Hweka. This is destined to be our night stop.

One night in Hweka

Hweka is the center of
jade mining in the Hweka-Makabin area. But Major Charles has
other things in store for us. After a quick dip in the Hweka chaung, to kick off at least the outside layers of
grime, it's back in the truck and into the night. The
Major has promised us something special.

The
track climbs steeply above town as we lurch through the mud,
heading towards the jade workings near Kadonyat. Nearing the
top of the hill, the inevitable occurs – stuck again.
But no worry. Amidst vigorous pulling and shouting, the vehicle
pops like a cork out of the mud, landing at the doorstep of
something special – the local disco.

True,
there is no mirrored ball, but the one-room hut has that special
something – atmosphere. We soak it up by the bottleful.
Eyeless in Gaza? No! We are shoeless and muddy in Hweka and
dance the night away. Once again, Dr. Thet Oo soberly reminds
us: "We can't get this kind of experience anywhere
else." Verily.

June 5

Hpakan or bust

As we awake in Hweka the
next morning, the tension is palpable. A peek out the window
reveals the expected – gray and green – gray skies,
green jungle – our constant companions. When we began
this journey, our thoughts were filled with how much time
we might spend at Hpakan, whether or not could visit the famous
deposits of Tawmaw and Maw Sit Sit, etc. Now we are concerned
with only one thing – actually setting foot in Hpakan.
Little Hong Kong is so close we can smell it, taste it, tease
its rough texture with our tongues.

Many
Kachins are animists, people who worship the nats (spirits)
said to reside in hills, trees, lakes and other natural features.
While Burmese settlers have brought their Buddhist beliefs
and European missionaries introduced Christianity, to many
people in these hills, it is but a thin veneer. Scratch the
surface and one finds the old beliefs, which still remain
strong. Perhaps for good reason, as the previous night's
events suggested.

The
night before, we were told we could make it to Hpakan the
next day, so long as it didn't rain. And it didn't,
for rain is not a proper term for what poured down that night.
No, this wasn't rain, this was a torrent, a rage, a hurricane
blast of fury unleashed by some power greater than any of
us had previously known.

Shaken,
we climb out of bed and into the new day. The first order
of business is to resupply. All of us are in need of fresh
footwear, among other things. But in Jade Land, the markets
are well stocked. First we slip into brand-spanking new Chinese Super DogTM socks. Then come the camouflaged
canvas jungle boots – a wicked cross-breed of Converse
All-Stars and Rambo running shoes. Slapping Moon RabbitTM batteries into our torches, we are locked, loaded and primed
for whatever the Burmese jungle might care to dish out. Bring
it on. Today is the day!

The
trace leads straight up the mountain face on the north bank
of the Hweka chaung. But the previous night's
downpour has made it impossible for our truck. At this moment,
fortune smiles upon us, in the form of a caterpillar-treaded
backhoe owned by a jade miner. Like a giant insect, the great
mechanical beast lumbers over to where our truck is resting
and, with agonizing slowness, raises its arm high into the
sky. Then, with a deft move, the bucket empties its contents.
On the mud in front of us is a slender thread – a steel
cable that will bring us up the mountain.

Hooked up

Ever-so-slowly, the spider
pulls us up the mountain. So slick is the trace that even the
caterpillar's treads spin and whirl in the mud. Thus, yet
again, we set off on foot.

Signs
of jade-mining lie everywhere alongside the road as we continue
towards and past Hpaokang, about one mile from Hweka. At the
top of the mountain, ingenious mining pools have been excavated.
When enough water accumulates, a gate is opened, allowing water
to rush down and "sluice" the hillside below. Later,
men will come to examine the boulders thus uncovered, looking
for that special texture and feeling that sends the pulse racing
– jade.

Back to the soil

Walking along the ridge here,
where the sun has now come out, is one of the most pleasant
stretches of the journey. We pass donkey trains and small villages,
along with the ubiquitous vendors selling refreshments. The
forest, in its stillness, is lovely, green-green, like the stone
which brought us here. But as quickly as the jungle seduces,
it also reminds one of its force, its power. Rounding a bend,
we see a woman sitting on a blanket, washing tomatoes. Coming
closer, we see why. A truck identical to our's lies in
the gulch below, cocked at an obscene angle. Scowling, she explains
to us that, when the truck did its impromptu disappearing act
into the ravine below, she was on it. And she is none too pleased
– all her tomatoes got soaked.

Figure
11 Valley
of Jade
The towns of Sate
Mu (Sine Naung) and Hpakan, seen from the Hweka-Hpakan
road. (Photo: R.W. Hughes)

While
watching an elephant attempting to extract the wounded truck,
we hear the approach of another vehicle. Could it be? Yes,
it is. Our truck is with us again. The road now wriggles and
winds over the Kachin countryside like a long brown snake.
The previous night's rain has made the track all the
more treacherous, particularly when moving down hill. So steep
is it that, at times, we slide sideways with a sickening motion,
and it appears the truck will overturn. Our driver wrestles
with the wheel as we continue the plunge downward, only to
right the vehicle and repeat the process around the next corner.

As
we lurch over hill and dale, the crest of one rise reveals
a sight forever etched in our memories. Seven hours had turned
into several days. But, there, below us, is a lush valley.
And in that valley lies a town. Hpakan is at our feet.

June
5 – Hpakan

For over thirty years,
Burma's military government has kept the Crown Jewel
of Jadedom locked away like a virgin in a tower. It has taken
four long days of travel, with the past three yielding a
scant 35 miles, just to get a glimpse of the tower. But here
we stand, on the cusp of Hpakan. Rapunzel has let down her
long hair – now we are poised to ride the strand into
a fairy-tale world, one where dreams come true and all the
dragons are colored imperial green.

Little Hong Kong – Town at
the end of the universe

Considering the difficulty
in getting here, what awaits us in the valley
below is all the more amazing. Amongst locals,
Hpakan is known as "Little Hong Kong" because,
like the British Crown Colony, you can get anything
you want. Whatever the apple of your sweetheart's
desire, it's available in Hpakan. Just be
prepared to pay the price, which, is two to three
times that found elsewhere in Burma. But exorbitant
prices matter little at Hpakan, a topsy-turvy
town in a topsy-turvy country, where today's
taxi driver just might be tomorrow's tycoon.

The wild, wild east

Driving into the Uru
(Uyu) river valley, we first come to the town of Sate Mu
(previously called Sine Naung), which is actually bigger
than Hpakan itself. Picture Cripple Creek, Virginia City,
Fairbanks and every other wild-west town in its heyday
and you have some idea of this place. Driving down its
dusty boulevard, one almost expects to hear a honky-tonk
piano, or see somebody come flying through a saloon window.
We are immediately struck by its temporary air – many
dwellings are little more than makeshift shacks and almost
everything is of recent construction.

Jade – Stone
of heaven

n
humanity's entire recorded history,
there has never existed a more intimate relationship
between a people and a stone than that between
the Chinese and jade. To the people of the
Middle Kingdom, jade was not simply hardened
earth – but, instead, crystallized magic – a
tiny piece of heaven bequeathed by the gods
to those of us destined to suffer here on
earth. It was literally the link between
heaven and earth, the bridge that allowed
mortals to cross over into immortality.

For people
of the Middle Kingdom, the green stone was
valued beyond all else. Gold and precious
stones might capture interest in the rest
of the world, but, in China, they were simply
also-rans. In Chinese athletic competitions,
ivory was given for third place and gold
for second. Jade was reserved solely for
the winners, including high officials in
the imperial court, because, as the saying
went: "Gold has a price – but jade
is priceless."

Within
jade's verdant interior, the Chinese
saw all that is good with humanity – virtue,
purity, justice, humanity, and more. But
while jade itself might be priceless, many
are willing to extract coin for the honor
of holding it in one's hand, or wearing
the green stone on a finger or ear. In fact,
the search itself has its price.

So what
exactly is jade? In the Orient, just about
anything translucent and green has been called
jade at one time or another. But the Occidental
psyche, with its propensity to pigeon-hole,
does not sit well with such indifference
to definition. Just how does one classify
a piece of heaven? If you are Chinese, you
don't even bother trying, which was
why it was left for the intruders from the
West to finally cross all the t's and
dot the i's of this most arcane of gem
substances.

In 1863,
a French mineralogist, Alexis Damour, analyzed
the bright green stones from Burma. Finding
them different from ordinary Chinese jade
(nephrite), he named the "new" jade,
jadeite. Today, gemologists apply the term
jade only to nephrite and jadeite. Nephrite
is a fibrous subspecies of the actinolite – tremolite
series, while jadeite is a member of the
pyroxene mineral group. The ideal composition
of jadeite is [NaAl(SiO3)2],
but it is frequently mixed with diopside
[CaMg(SiO3)2] or acmite
[NaFe(SiO3)2]. Jadeite
rich in iron (mixed with acmite) is a dark
green to black color and is termed chloromelanite.
Some boulders display this black, chloromelanite
skin, which, according to Burmese miners,
is bad, "infecting" the stone,
and a harbinger of bad luck.

Passing
along the bustling main street we see signs for Rolex watches
and Hennessy cognac, testifying to the tremendous wealth
simmering just beneath the dull exterior. Above the tin roofs
are satellite dishes; beyond that lie the green hills, splattered
everywhere with the brown of mining activity. In places,
entire mountain tops are eaten away, as the human quest for
the green stone oozes deeper and deeper into the surrounding
jungle.

We
continue on to Hpakan, which lies astride the Uru
River. After a brief stop at the Government guest
house, to wash up and check in with the local police,
we plunge straight into this green chasm that is
jade.

Figure 12 Building
the pyramids
Hpakangyi, where over 10,000 people are building a bridge to
heaven. (Photo: R.W. Hughes)

June 5–7 – Hpakan

Greenhorns in Greenland

Upon reaching the mines,
the first question any self-respecting gemologist asks
is: "By jove and George, how in the heck do they do
it?" Meaning, how do miners separate the quite occasional
jade boulder from the thousands of others which they also
dig up and which look so completely similar that, if you
or I had found it, we would simply chuck this potential
fortune straight into the neighbor's back yard? This
is the question.

Our
investigations did put the question to rest,
somewhat. Repeated questioning of various and
sundry jade traders, cutters and miners yielded
up the following pearls of wisdom:

Identifying jade

In separating jade from ordinary
boulders, miners look for something which, in the vernacular
is called yumm, a fibrous texture. Ordinary boulders
show a reflection of mica or sand, while jadeite is smooth,
with yumm, and without particle reflections.

In
addition to the fibrous texture, jadeite also
tends to stick slightly to one's hand or
foot under water. It also has a different sound
when struck with a pick, as well as having a
greater heft (density) than ordinary stones.

Figure 13 A
room with a view
U Tin Ngwe, who went from taxi driver to jade kingpin almost
overnight, stands atop a small fortune of jade at his Hpakan
home. (Photo: Olivier Galibert)

Miners
also look also something called shin, which, from
what we could gather, is the type of sheen seen on schist.
Black shin is said to "damage" the stone,
apparently being an indication of increased iron content
(chloromelanite). They also look for the show points,
where the jade color shows through the skin.

Jadeite types

Jade is roughly separated according
to the manner in which it is mined. By far the vast majority
is recovered from alluvial deposits of the Uru River conglomerate.
This occurs as rounded boulders with a thick skin and is
termed river jade. In contrast, mountain jade appears
as irregular chunks with a thin skin, and is recovered
directly from in situ deposits. The green and lavender
colors are independent of the deposit type, but red to
orange jade is limited to those pieces of jade recovered
from an iron-rich soil. The reddish color results from
a natural staining of the porous jade's skin.

The business of jade

From the time jade is won in the Jade
Mines area until it leaves Mogaung in the rough for cutting
there is much that is underhand, tortuous and complicated,
and much unprofitable antagonism. In my opinion the whole
business requires cleansing, straightening and the light
of day thrown on it.

Major F.L. Roberts
formerly
Deputy Commissioner, Myitkyina

It is said that the jade business
involves "luck." That's like calling a
lottery ticket an investment in the future. The jade
business is not about luck, it's about strapping
your hopes and dreams straight onto the rim of the roulette
wheel and letting the creator give it a long, hard spin.

Be
all you can be

or
Burma's military, the jade mines represent
a big fat pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
And a stint at the mines is the payoff for
a job well done. The rewards for being stationed
there are many, for, in a district where
coin flows like water, those positioned directly
at the well get to drink to their hearts' content.
During our time in the jade mines district,
we came in contact with countless military
officers, but did not meet a single one who
had spent more than six months in the area.
You see, when it comes to jade, others must
also get their chance to drink.

Just
how much joss is involved is illustrated by the tale
of U Tin Ngwe, one of Hpakan's many lao pan (kingpins).
He got his start behind the wheel of a large piece of
rolling Japanese steel with a "taxi" sign on
top. One day, a local jade trader he picked up offered
him a spin of the green wheel, in the form of a grab
bag of jade boulders. Picking up each piece, he studied
them carefully. "Why not," he thought, as he
forked over 3,000 kyat ($23) for the heaviest boulder
in the lot, "I feel lucky." He felt even
luckier after selling the piece to another trader
for 650,000 kyat ($5000). And that trader felt even
luckier still after selling the exact same piece
for over 3,000,000 kyat ($23,076). "Hmm," he
thought to himself, "this jade stuff is interesting." It
was so interesting that, today, U Tin Ngwe owns several
mines and is one of the biggest traders in the valley.
When the steel ball finally came to rest, it had stopped
at his number.

Figure 14 Rough
and cut heaven
(Photos: Richard W. Hughes)

Shooting craps

Of course, every crapshoot
has its losers, as well as winners. None who lived in Bangkok
in the late-1970's can forget the story of… let's
call him Sia Poh, who had invested a small fortune in one
promising jade boulder. Many others were also eager to possess
it; one went so far as to offer him several times his money.
But Sia Poh refused to sell. He would cut it himself and,
in the process, squeeze every possible drop of profit from
the green stone. Alas, it was not to be. Cutting open the
stone revealed but a cheap, ornamental-grade lump, worth
perhaps $50. Lady luck had passed him by. In Sia Poh's
case, the steel ball eventually stopped right between his
eyes – from the muzzle of the weapon with which he blew
his brains out.

Judging quality – smoke
and mirrors

Much of the mystery about
the jade trade concerns just how a trader judges the quality
of something encased in a rust-like oxidation skin so dense
it hides all traces of color within.

Traders
will often wet the surface of a boulder to better
see the color lurking underneath. They also utilize
small metal plates and penlights. The plate is
placed on the surface at a likely spot and a
penlight shone through from the side furthest
from the eye. This reveals color in the absence
of glare from the light.

According
to traders and miners to whom we spoke, one looks for something
they call pyat kyet (literally 'show points'),
which are areas where the skin is thin enough to see through.
And if there are no such show points? Heh, heh, heh. If
we could answer that one we wouldn't be telling you
now, would we?

Down at the saw mill

In an effort to get right
down to brass tacks, much jade is simply sawn open; this
is the approach used at the government sponsored auctions
in Yangon. But as owners don't particularly like their
boulders defaced in such a manner, one has to pay to play
that game. Parting a boulder down the middle has the added
danger that one may cut right through a good area.

Desperately seeking
green

Experienced jade traders
are said to be able to predict, by studying the outside of
the boulder, what the inner color will be, but anyone who
has ever seen boulders sawn open can prove the lie in that
old wives' tale. Even for experts, much guesswork is
still involved. Before cutting, traders look for color spots
at the show points. Color spots going all across a stone
infer that color is relatively consistent across the piece.

Before
cutting, the surface is carefully examined to select the
best place for sawing. While it is difficult to see through
the skin, some cracks can be seen. This is important, as
fractures can have a dramatic impact on value. There is no
specific formula for cutting – it all depends on individual
judgement and the rough's features. In buying, say,
a five-piece lot, sometimes all are good, and sometimes all
are bad. Much depends on luck, or, as the great 11th-century
gemologist, al-Biruni, put it: "God grants honor to
some and disgrace to others."

Opium and the jade trade

According to one Bangkok
source, mining concessions in the Hpakan area are granted
according to the projected value of the jade in the ground.
Of course, the best spots cost lots of money, which the (mostly)
Chinese mine owners pay to the central government. According
to this source, only those with mighty deep pockets get involved
and, in these hills, that usually means opium merchants.

This
source, who is quite close to one of Burma's
top jade traders, told us that the jade business
is often simply a sideline. Those in the drug
business don't mind putting up a billion
kyat (about $7.7 million) and only getting half
back, because that half is now "clean" money.
They can also afford to stockpile jade, giving
buyers the impression that fine stones are more
rare than is actually the case.

Those
in the drug business also have a ready means to control
the miners, many of whom are opium or heroin addicts. Diggers
believe that taking the drug will help prevent malaria
and other diseases, but it's more likely the drug
just eases the pain which digging holes in the ground inevitably
brings. In any event, once addicted, the bosses can then
easily control their workers, by regulating the supply
of the drug. The cocktail of opium and jade is a highly
inflammable one and mafia-type gangland violence occasionally
erupts. Just a few weeks before our visit, a major miner
(and also, reputedly, a drug dealer) was murdered in Myitkyina.
The official version of the killing was that it was the
work of a "mad man."

Upon
signing the peace agreement, soldiers from the
Kachin Independence Army (KIA) were legally allowed
into Hpakan for the first time. They didn't
like what they saw. Heroin was being openly sold,
almost like Coca Cola on the street. But they
solved that problem. Rounding up close to 80
heroin dealers, they took them down to the river,
put a bullet in the backs of their heads and
dumped the bodies into the Uru chaung (river).
Heroin is no longer sold openly in Hpakan.

Taxing questions

In all good businesses,
it is inevitable that the government should want a piece
of the action, and so it is with the green stone. Each jade
boulder we saw had writing on it. This is a registration
number, along with the weight, signifying that tax has been
paid on the boulder. Tax is paid in Hpakan, after evaluation
by a government-appointed committee. The levy is 10% of the
appraised value, but since many who sit on the committee
are traders themselves, valuations tend to be "generous."

Without
paying tax, it is theoretically illegal to cut
a boulder. But it does not take too great a leap
of faith to see people simply cutting boulders
without paying tax. In any event, today, almost
all the boulders are said to be "legal," meaning
that tax has been paid.

A mining we will go

In Hpakan, we hire a car
to take us to Lonkin, several miles away. Along the way,
we stop at Maw-sisa, among the most active and interesting
jade mines in the Hpakan region.

Maw-sisa
is, in many respects, the quintessential mine,
with jade recovered from alluvial deposits in
the Uru river conglomerate. This formation is
as much as 1000-feet deep in places, and present
mining has just scratched the surface. Thus jadeite
hoarders should take note – from what we
could see, there is a good millennia or three's
worth of material remaining to be extracted.

Each
mining claim is just 15-feet wide; to keep from
encroaching into the neighbor's area, a
thin wall of earth and boulders is left as a
partition. When seen from above, the result is
spectacular – several square miles of stair-step
like benches, resembling nothing so much as a
massive archeological dig. But diggers here do
not search for mere bones or shards of pottery.
Instead, they seek the Chinese holy grail, small
pieces of heaven.

Figure
18 Near
Sate Mu, finding jade is as simple as a walk
along the banks of the Uru river. Of course,
you might have to examine an awful lot of rocks
in the process. (Photo: R.W. Hughes)

Dig it

At Maw-sisa, diggers were
mining a black layer, locally termed ah may jaw. While
jade is said to be richest in this layer, it can occur anywhere
in the conglomerate. The first step in mining is removal
of the overburden, taung moo kyen (literally 'head
cap removal'). Since the overburden is also conglomerate,
it may also contain jade, so the workers must search this,
too. We saw people working about 50 feet into the conglomerate,
which is stripped away with primitive tools.

Miners
were asked how often they find jade. They said
it depends on luck. While some days they might
find up to 25 pieces, other times they might
go for days without finding anything. In terms
of size, some boulders are 200–300kg, some
even as big as a house, but most are less than
1kg.

At
one spot, we saw two people carefully washing
a blackish boulder, apparently to see if it was
jade. When approached, they quickly tossed it
aside, but then went back to it after we left.
From a distance we watched. Brows furrowed as
they scraped away at it, only to throw it away
in the end. Apparently even the miners themselves
sometimes have difficulty in identifying the
look of heaven.

Walking
back through the village, we saw some people
smoking opium, while others were busy downing
the local whisky. A few meters away there was
a sign in Burmese giving some local laws:

Do
not smoke while walking (to prevent fires, which are
common in the area).

Do
not consume alcohol or drugs.

Respect
other cultures (people of a variety of ethnic groups
live in the area).

Well,
two out of three isn't bad.

Dike mining

It is said that to find
a dike is to become an instant millionaire. For whilst ordinary
miners flail away in the common soil, only rarely turning
up a boulder of jade, the dike is the mother lode itself,
a bridge straight to heaven.

Figure
19 Bug
spray
Malaria is a major concern for anyone living or traveling
in the jade-mines area. In this land of animism, the preferred
local solution is embossing the skin by pinching it with
a coin. The Maw-sisa miner at left is prepared for any kind
of flying pest, as was Richard Hughes after he had the treatment
applied. The efficacy of this bug protection was made crystal
clear in Mogaung, where Hughes and Galibert slept side-by-side
in the same bed. Come morning, Galibert's body was covered
with bedbug bites, while Hughes was untouched. [Photos: R.W.
Hughes (left) and Mark Smith (right)]

In
the Hpakan area, several primary outcrops of jadeite have
been located, the most famous of which is at Tawmaw. Formerly,
miners employed fire and water to break away pieces of the
jade. Today, peace has another dividend – dynamite – a
godsend when dealing with a rock so tough that a day's
worth of drilling might only penetrate 12 inches.

Unfortunately,
the road to Tawmaw in the rainy season is… iffy.
After an hour's worth of radio traffic at
the Lonkin military base, we were told that only
the first few kilometers were passable. Thus
we set off for the mining site of Masamaw, on
the way passing through a small village called
Kademaw. Later, we visited a mine operated by
the NDA, one of the Kachin resistance groups.

Figure 20Until
recently, the only way Hpakan could be supplied
was by convoy-fifty or more trucks-along with a
large helping of Burmese military might. Although
fighting between the Burmese army and the KIA is
now over, the struggle continues. But today, the
enemy is nature, as this photo of the "good" road
between Mogaung and Hpakan shows. Some trucks along
this road had been stuck in the same spot for ten
days. So high is the demand for transport to Hpakan
that the owner of this truck made back the truck's
purchase price within six months. (Photo: R.W.
Hughes)

Slowly down the river

For over 200 years, man
has scoured the banks of the Uru river in search of jade.
The keepers are quickly put away, with the others simply
discarded, giving the area the look of one large ant hill.
Centuries of labor has piled the banks high.

Jade
is not the only treasure yielded up by the river.
Much gold mining is also in evidence, with the
miners utilizing small, portable sluices featuring
ingenious bamboo riffles.

Nanyazeik
ruby mines

Jade
is not the only gem found in these hills.
The famous Burmese amber deposits are located
in the Hukawng Valley, some 60 miles
north of Hpakan, while ruby and spinel are
had at Nanyazeik, a few miles from Kamaing,
on the Mogaung-Hpakan road. We inquired about
ruby as we stopped at Nanyazeik (locally
termed 'Nanya')
during our June 1996 visit and were told
that there was mining, but it had yet to
receive official sanction. One Burmese source
told the authors that he had seen some ruby
from Nanya, and it was good, similar in features
to that from Mogok. In Mogaung, we purchased
one 0.5 kg rounded piece of low-grade
ruby, which was offered as red jade. This
was possibly from Nanya.
[note: Richard Hughes visited Nanyazeik a
second time in March 1997 and again inquired
about ruby mining. He was told the deposit
was being worked a bit. This began to change
in the year 2000, with a mining rush. Nanyazeik
produces pink to magenta colored rubies and
star rubies of fine quality, along with hot
pink spinels]

Submarine mining

During seasons when the
river is high, particularly at Mamon, men dive for jade.
Air is supplied via a crude air pump, something akin to a
triple bicycle hand pump. While those on land furiously works
the pump, the diver hops into the water and searches for
jade with the plastic hose between his teeth, all the while
hoping and praying those up above don't forget just
who's down there.

Friday, June 7, 1996

The
road to Mandalay

Until recently, the only
way that Hpakan could be supplied was by convoy from Mogaung – fifty
or more trucks – along with a healthy dollop of Burmese
military might. Fighting between the Burmese army and the
KIA is now over, but the struggle continues, this time against
nature.

To
leave the jade mines, we would take this Hpakan-Mogaung
road, the "good road," as we were told.
Unfortunately, this turned out to be every bit
as wretched as the one on which we had come up,
only flatter and busier. Just outside of Lonkin,
it degrades into a sea of mud, with all manner
of stranded vehicles. Coming upon one stuck lorry,
which was hooked up to a rather ingenious winch,
we asked how long he had been stuck. The answer
surprised even us. He had been resting in the
same mud hole for ten days.

Figure
21 Bamboozled
Final polishing for jade cabochons is often done with a piece
of bamboo mounted on the end of a lathe. This photo was taken
in Mogaung's jade market. (Photo: R.W. Hughes)

Jumbo journey

Our journey from Hpakan
to Mogaung was as follows: truck, jeep, foot, elephant and
truck. Most interesting was the elephant. Two beasts were
initially offered, but since one was already on his third "driver," having
killed the previous two, it was clear which one to take.
As the jumbo knelt down, we climbed aboard.

Comfort
is not one of the pluses of elephant travel,
but we can say this – it does not get stuck.
The driver told us he had purchased the beast
many years before for 60,000 kyat ($462), and
had recently turned down an offer of three million
($23,076). He also told us the elephant's
age: "She's now 21" he said and,
with a wink, "still a virgin."

The
final leg of the journey was completed by truck.
It had one of those fancy do-hickies on the dash,
the kind meant to tell you when you are leaning,
and when you are leaning too much. In our case,
it always seemed to be the latter, but the gauge
must have been broken, because even when the
little yellow needle had tilted several degrees
beyond the scale, we still didn't tip over.

We
will not go into the many trials of the rest
of the journey. Suffice to say that, in the end,
the Burmese jungle spit us out, panting and dusty,
at the Mogaung trail head, over 12 hours after
leaving Hpakan. Our night was spent at Mogaung's
Dollar Lodge, which cost three.

Saturday, June 8, 1996

Mogaung

Considering the large quantity
of jade mined in the Hpakan area and the tremendous difficulties
involved in its transportation, it is surprising that so
little seems to be cut on site. But this is the case. Other
than one market just outside Lonkin, we saw no cutting in
the Hpakan area. Instead, most jade is hauled out for cutting
elsewhere.

Mandalay
is by far the biggest cutting and trading center
for jade in Burma, but there is also a jade market
in Mogaung. The morning we visited, some 200
people were involved in cutting and trading jade.
In addition to jadeite, the unusual ornamental
gem material, maw sit sit, was also on
offer. One member of our party (TO) bought a
boulder of maw sit sit which weighed over 30kg.

End of the green line

A hill just above Sate
Mu looks down upon one of the most remote and inaccessible
mining localities on the face of the earth. On this hill
stands a 30-foot cross, symbol of the Kachins' predominantly
Christian faith. But this is no ordinary crucifix. The color
of Jade Land is green and the color of this cross is also
green – green like the jungle on the surround hills – green
like the stone which has brought us here – green from
the hundreds of jade plates that coat its surface.

In
the valley below, ant-like figures labor in the
river, searching, seeking, hoping to find that
one special stone, that green rock which will
bring them a slice of heaven right here on earth.

Some might see this search and, indeed, this cross, as a tower of babel,
a symbol of man's vain quest for material wealth. But it matters
not to those who search for the green stone. The fact is that the green
stone exists – no preacher or holy book, be it Buddhist, Hindu,
Muslim, Tao or Christian, can change that.

Is
the green stone, as the Chinese assert, a bridge
to heaven? Although we have traced the green
line to its terminus, all the way to its very
apex, we are still unable to provide an answer.
But one thing is certain: as long as the demand
for jade persists, man will continue to follow
the green line. And that line will continue to
lead straight to Hpakan.

About the authors

Gemologist Richard W.
Hughes is one of the world's foremost authorities
on ruby and sapphire. His latest book, Ruby & Sapphire (1997,
RWH Publishing, Boulder, CO, USA), is the culmination of
close to twenty years spent studying these famous gems.

Olivier
Galibert, a Paris-based gem dealer and photographer,
specializes in fine precious stones and pearls.
He spends over half the year traveling throughout
Asia in search of the rare and beautiful.

American Mark
Smith has resided in Bangkok since the early
1980's, where he operates one of the Thai
capital's finest colored stone wholesale
houses.

Dr.
Thet Oo of Rangoon and Mogok, Burma, is a
second-generation trader in precious stones.
His specialty is star rubies and sapphires.

Author's
Afterword

This article resulted from
an indescribable May 1996 trip to Burma's jade mines,
the first visit by Western gemologists in over 30 years.
My pale attempt at describing the indescribable was published
in Jewelers' Circular-Keystone in two parts
(1996–97; Vol. 167, No. 11, November, pp. 60–65;
Vol. 168, No. 1, January, pp. 160–166). Fred Ward
and I made a second trip several months later, accompanying
a German film crew. Although we were able to spend more
time at the mines, the Burmese military intelligence
(MI) officials who accompanied us made it a royal pain
in the ass. I was the only one in the group who had a
clue about the area (other than a lao pan's mine
manager who accompanied us), so the MI men naturally
assumed I must be an American spy. Ha! Little did they
know that I am just about the last person the US government
would select for such a task (in line right next to Fidel
Castro). In any event, it was the first time I had been
arrested without committing a crime (a common occurrence
in Burma for locals, I am told) and by the end of the
trip Fred and I were saying, in the immortal words of
the Hollywood starlet: "Who do we have to screw
to get off of this film." The second trip is described
in another article, Heaven and Hell.

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